Post by riza on Sept 23, 2012 1:13:05 GMT -8
▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪
ALASDAIR MATHIEU McGINNIS[/b]
22. Male. OC. Meterosexual. COMPLETE.[/font]
▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ [/color]
Where dark woods hide secrets
And mountains are fierce and bold
Deep waters hold reflections
Of times lost long ago .❞[/center]
occupation,bumhe's a jack of 'all' trades, though, currently, alasdair is between 'trades'. his dream is to own his own restaurant, with a chic little cafe out front, and he has worked all his life to become a chef. however, before someone can own a business, they need money... which he does not have.
appearance,
pretty, beautiful, effeminately masculine... alasdair has been told more than once--much to his rather vain pleasure--that is he is a rather rare specimen of male beauty, a statement that he has most certainly let go to his head. however, his rather large ego and conceitedness aside, the statement is undeniably true; a fact that any fool with eyes can attest to, even if it is begrudgingly so.
cutting a tall figure, standing at 6'5" (without boots, mind you), long willowy legs lead up to narrow hips before flaring ever so slightly at his chest and shoulders. alasdair does not have a lot of muscle on him, he's more lean than anything else. that is not to say, though, that he is merely a stick. he is well toned in key areas that are more evident when his shirt is off, if the testament of one of his past liaisons is to be trusted. he is simply built for fluid grace and speed, rather than sheer force or bulk.
normally, he wears collared shirts with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the first few buttons undone, claiming that he does not like any restriction about his throat. the outfit is complimented with a simple pair of slacks and well polished shoes. he hates scuffs.
pale skin encompasses his entire body, soft in texture even though he does not use any moisturizers to keep it so (he is vain, but will often say--mostly to skeptical men--that primping is far beneath his naturally good looks). his hands, however, are an entirely different matter. his thin, nimble fingers have a mirade of tiny scars on them, ruminants of foolish mistakes he made while learning his preferred trade. small cuts from hasty movements with knives and similar accidents. for the most part, they aren't noticeable, until a person takes a second glance; the lone exceptions being a long burn mark that runs along the side of his palm, from the tip of the pink to just above the wrist. whether it is because of his years cooking or his own vanity, alasdair despises having filthy hands; dirt underneath the fingernails being the worst possible offender to his cleanliness.
much like most of his physical features, alasdair inherited his mother's pale golden hair color. his locks have grown out--the longest of the mass reaching just past his shoulders--as he has recently discovered that he prefers the roguish look and length on him; it's more masculine and mysterious in his opinion. though, due to habit from his years training to be a chef, it is more often than not pulled back, to the best of his abilities, using a black silk ribbon that his younger sister had given to him. though, he would be hard pressed to admit that there was a sentimental reason behind him using the now fading gray ribbon, everyday; he does not talk of his family often, after all. however, being less than proficient in the skills of managing hair, there are strands that still manage to escape from it's pulled back pony; the stray hair hanging loosely around his face. the bangs are the most noticeable, as they have not yet reached the length needed to reach back. thus, more often than not, the strands of have fall down into his face while he is working, a fact he is used to. it no longer impedes his vision, needing to be blown out of his eyes every few seconds as he had to do when he first started growing his hair out.
thin eyebrows, arched and quirked in amusement rest above light sea-green eyes--a slight almond shape pulling at the corners, they are framed with unnaturally long (for a male) lashes, leaning towards his more feminine look. his nose, while one would not call it fat or big, is certainly not as soft as the rest of his face, much more angular; it is the lone feature of his that he inherited from his father. and, resting just below said nose is his ever present smirk and a thin, pointed chin.
personality traits,
- vain, at first glance, alasdair is a relatively simple person to figure out. he is undeniably vain, thinking nothing of it to vocally highlight all of his best qualities to any who would listen, while glossing over his... less then amiable traits, with a rare eloquence befitting his intelligence
- flirt, alasdair is an undeniably a flirt, though he argues this by saying a flirt does not care for the women with him he interacts, while he, is merely a sensitive guy with an eye for what the ladies like. i.e.: him.
- intelligent , despite his flighty demeanor, alasdair actually intelligent. he enjoys reading, when there isn't anything more flashy going on.
- charming, or at least a charmer. armed with a self-satisfied smirk plastered to his face, he always has a smooth line at the ready.
- sensitive, he tries very hard to hide this fact. he gets enough of people poking at his feminine traits without them knowing that he is the type of person who cries at hallmark cards.
- dramatic, it might not be a big deal to you, but to alasdair, it is the end of the world and he will act his part right down to the dramatic declarations to the wide swishing gestures.
- curious, and a bit of a gossip; he just can't help himself, though. he wants to know who is doing what, where and why.
- easily distracted, whether it's a new woman or a shiny object on the ground, alasdair is easily distracted.
- playful, alasdair is a playful person. whether it's just some gentle teasing (not at his expense) or a day on the beach, he likes to have fun.
- secretive, mostly about the past. while he has no problem bragging about his accomplishments, talking about, say, his family... that is an entirely different matter. he is rather tight lipped about the past.
game description,An apprentice chef from a distant village, and one of the four sons of a simple farmer. A bit vain, and a complete flirt, he has a few problems that are standing in his way of realizing his dream of one day having his own five star restaurant in a big city.
other,
- birthday, alasdair's birthday is fall third (october third). while he loves gifts and celebrating with friends, he hates being asked how old he is. he's twenty-two... almost a fourth of a century old, a fact that he doesn't deal well with.
- likes, advanced dishes and rainbow curry (+500 fp)
- dislikes, raw onions, insects and warm milk (-500 fp)
- heart event, gray heart event: friday, between 7pm-10pm, rain, snow or shine, outside of the cafe.
- nickname, alasdair has amassed quite a list of nicknames throughout his youth, just like most people his age. However, there are very few on that list that he actually tolerates. al is a common name, as well as dair. begrudgingly, he admits that those names aren't as bad as his least favorite, but he still dislikes them with intensity. however, the absolute worst is alas, a name that had plagued him throughout his youth, whenever one of the other boys were mad at him (you know how boys are, getting in to and out of fights, even with their friends), as they made sure to elongate the despised nickname, pronouncing it as alice. he hated it, after all, what boy would want to be called by a decidedly girl name? thus, when asked what he would like to be called, he'll reply simply with alasdair, rather then any of the hacked off endings of his name mutilated to sound like something... effeminate.
- family, while it is not something that alasdair likes talk about, he does have a family. his refusal to speak on the matter has nothing to do with anything as sordid as being an orphan.
Rurik McGinnis-Father- Farmer
-Emilie McGinnis, nee D’Laron- Mother--House wife and Mother
Farriss Mc Ginnis- Oldest Brother- Farmer
-Shanna McGinnis, nee Forester- Sister-in-law--House wife and pregnant
--Brom McGinnis- Nephew- toddler
Darin McGinnis- Older Brother- Farmer
-Josephine, nee Daller- Sister-in-law--Seamstress and pregnant
Egan McGinnis- Older Brother- Apprentice Blacksmith
-Mary-Jo Hannan- Future Sister-in-law--daughter of a blacksmith
Shanley McGinnis- Younger Sister--Still a student- ambitions, alasdair dreams of having his own restaurant, a prestigious place with fine gourmet that people would travel legions in hopes to sample. hard working, and talented at his trade, he tends to throw himself into his tasks with a vigor that would ensure him achieving said goal, if only he would leave the ladies alone.
roleplay example,"With the grace of royalty, the lioness stalks her prey on the open plains of the Savannah with an unparalleled skill; Queen of the animal kingdom. The most talented hunter of the pride and it's matriarch, it is up to her to lead the hunt. And on today's menu, water buffalo... Weighing nearly 700 kilograms of sheer muscle, they are an impressive force, even when tired and weak from months of travel. A lioness could easily find herself gored if she is not careful. It will takes all the coordination, skill and luck that the hunters have to take it down."
Letting out an aggravated sigh, Kankuro couldn't help but realize that this was, in fact, the most boring Saturday night that he'd ever had. Or at least the most boring Saturday night that featured a bottle of beer in hand, a pussy (of sorts) on his lap, and 'enjoying' something that was centered around the discovery channel. Put it all together, now and what does that spell? He wasn't quite sure but he was fairly positive that it was synonymous with being dead.
It was a real pity, too. Saturday nights proceeding work-less Sundays (the official unofficial walk of shame day, traditionally speaking) were a rarity for the gainfully employed at Fresh Mart. Holy grail floating in the fountain of youth with sea-shell-less mermaids and elves frolicking about celebrating world peace rare.
But there he was. Translation: Grocery bitches never get Saturdays to party and hung over Sundays for recovering his shattered sobriety. And he was, in short, wasting it. How utterly sick was that?
Watching some documentary on the animals of Africa as he mindedly scratching behind the ears of a contentedly rumbling Squishee, he also couldn't help but realize that he had now unofficially officially punked out on this weekend (he then proceeded to realize he needed to stop realizing things, it was bumming him the hell out). As his high school gym teacher (slash star of the simple most disturbed dream he had ever had that led to him never again drink any tea that his brother or Ruka decided to bring into the apartment} had once declared, he was effectively wasting the energetic spring time of his youth. Never before had Kankuro Kankuro thought this statement to be true (not even when he was cutting said gym teacher's calls to be smoking in the boy's room, and yes, listening to Motley Crue just because he could) much less thought that he would actually say, er... think it with a straight face. But, at that moment in time, not quite buzzed enough to even pretend to care about the plight of potential impalement, his hands were rather tied on the matter, leaving him only with the moral of this particular bitter story: 'Broke-Kankuro' morphed into 'Crap-Saturday-at-Home-Kankuro' which paved the way for 'Rare-Dry-Spell-Kankuro'.
He really hated that guy.
"The hunt is on... In a matter of seconds they are on the buffalo, two coming up from behind. A brief chase before pouncing on her, taking her to the ground."
For a wild second Kankuro was sure that the narrator was taunting him, but as his eyes fixed on the tv in time to see the lioness pounce on the female water buffalo in what just might be the wild and kinky lez sex of the animal kingdom (obvious joke about eating and cats not withstanding) he had another realization.
It wasn't the narrator, it was god.
Not only was it getting to pounce on unsuspecting females on camera in a completely kosher fashion, but it was getting to eat meat while the closest thing to that in this house (again obvious joke about him having more then enough meat for the whole complex is obvious but withstood) was being offered a tofu hot dog. Not amusing, though he did briefly wonder if it was some sort of fail dirty talk for vegetarians.
Fuck.... or rather he wished. He needed to get out of the apartment and get the three necessities of life. Booze, women and meat.
Glancing down at the cat in his lap, Kankuro gave Squishee a nod that he hoped conveyed his sense of "Don't worry, we both will get out of her and find all three" as he called into the other room. "Oi, think you can grab my phone off the table when you come back in here, Sea hag?" He couldn't be the only one in his group that was broke, horny and looking for amusement that featured mammals but couldn't be shown on the discovery channel.
PROFILE TEMPLATE © LILLY OF OTE
[/font]
